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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520433">Don't You Hang Up Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillyfoot/pseuds/Chillyfoot'>Chillyfoot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Reality, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Gen, I refuse to spoiler tag this since it all goes out live, Is Sebastian a major character???, Team Dynamics, foregone conclusion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:20:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillyfoot/pseuds/Chillyfoot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in four parts, of love and of loss, and what it means to not be there when your sibling needs you most. Season 7, Days 63-73.</p><p>IN MEMORIAM: Sebastian Telephone. Rest in brutal violence; we miss you already.</p><p>It's an unreviewed one-shot for the sake of timeliness and relevancy, so we die like we're under a solar eclipse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jessica Telephone &amp; Sebastian Telephone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fluffernutter Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is dedicated to the six and a half Dallas Steaks. I see you guys, and I think you're really cool.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Season 7, Day 63 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Birds circled the Moist Diamond, high above the harsh stadium lights. A six-foot-tall peanut shell quivered in the outfield. The crackle caught one bird’s attention; the bird diving toward the field caught two. Soon, the entire flock settled just above the Gleek Arena’s Splash Zone, waiting for the opportunity to strike.</p><p> </p><p>A ball whizzed toward left field. The shell rolled slightly left, but not before the flock surrounded it. With each satisfying peck, they came closer to the delicious nut inside. Peck. The shell was wearing thin. Peck. Only another few mouthfuls of fibrous skin before the real prize.</p><p> </p><p>CRACK.</p><p> </p><p>Much to the birds’ dismay, no peanut was buried in the shell. They were met instead by a woman with bleached-blonde hair, a horrible rash running down her face and arms, and the largest (and only) rotary phone they had ever seen. “Shoo!” she shouted at them, swinging the handset around until the flock retreated into the empty sky.</p><p> </p><p>The crowd roared, some members literally. “Would you look at that?” an announcer said, their voice blaring to the arena from a dripping mouth-shaped loudspeaker. “The birds pecked Jessica Telephone free!”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica brushed the peanut dust off with her hands. The crowd cheered again as she stood. She looked up for the first time, her neck aching from the effort and her eyes burning from the lights. “Thank you,” she whispered to the birds, then hustled to the Pies’ dugout as the umpire called to change innings.</p><p> </p><p>The Pies were nothing short of ecstatic to see Jessica as herself again. Bright almost swam into the Moist Diamond to greet her. Kennedy, Hobbs, and Ruslan had prepared her favorite whoopie pies to celebrate, but since Jessica emerged several weeks after their initial prediction, there was little more in the container than mold and crumbs.</p><p> </p><p>Peanut Holloway reached to give Jessica a crunchy slap on the back before she stopped him, explaining the slow and painful immune response she developed in her shell. She would never enjoy another fluffernutter sandwich, she realized. Her Pies teammates taught her the joy of peanut butter and marshmallow creme, something the Tigers weren’t quite as receptive to.</p><p> </p><p>“How’s the team been doing without me?” Jessica asked Nolanestophia.</p><p> </p><p>Nolanestophia stopped grooming herself mid-lick. “Even with the leagues shuffled around last season, we’re down in the rankings with the Fridays. I don’t know if we’ll recover by playoffs.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite spending most of her games in the shell half-conscious at best, Jessica had been able to make out enough to know her teammates carted her on and off of right field, inning after inning. She reflexively pounded on her peanut-shaped prison every time she was called to bat, but neither her fists nor the Dial Tone could break down the walls. Jessica felt almost guilty about the inaction forced upon her by the gods.</p><p> </p><p>“I must have been a burden to you guys,” Jessica said. “How long has it been, a week? A month? Six seconds?” Time had never meant much to Jessica, especially if the year didn’t have an eight in the tens place.</p><p> </p><p>“You were trapped for sixty-three games,” Nolanestophia told her. “That’s nine weeks’ worth of games, never mind the time it took to get to and from each stadium. You will never know how hard it is to get a giant peanut into hotels or past TSA.”</p><p> </p><p>“How have things been for everyone else? I know I was on that stupid podium with Peanut Bong and Nagomi…”</p><p> </p><p>“Nagomi wasn’t as lucky as you.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica’s guilt solidified. “What? I was at the top! If anyone should have died—”</p><p> </p><p>Nolanestophia patted Jessica’s shoulder with a soft paw. “She’s still alive, but she was shelled like you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about the Tigers? How are the Tigers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Cookbook and Scorpler got cooked, and I have a bad feeling about Yasmin and that new guy. Shmurmgle, they called him?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Cruel irony, </em> Jessica thought. <em> Had Scorpler been allowed to keep their jacket… </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Nolanestophia remembered, “<em> and </em> Elijah Bates was incinerated in the same game.”</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT.”</p><p> </p><p>“They brought Hotdogfingers from the Garages back to life. She doesn’t throw like she used to, so now getting hit by a stray pitch puts some kind of curse on you. All those guys were cursed.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica checked the Mild League schedule. They wouldn’t be playing the Garages anytime soon, but Sebastian would. “Are the Steaks in one piece?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your brother’s fine,” Nolanestophia said. “I wouldn’t worry about him.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica pointed at the next series. “I would.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EDIT FROM THE FUTURE: Game logs inform me that Bright Zimmerman did not pitch this game.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stay 'Til You Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Season 7, Downtime</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian’s cell phone rang. For most people, this was an everyday occurrence, met with only the occasional stare from some irritated person should you hesitate to answer it. Sebastian, however, owned the largest known functional flip phone in the known universe. Carrying it by airport security and onto the baseball field drew all kinds of attention. He rarely used it, with one contact who mostly called him. His teammates had even pooled some betting money from Steaks flans to buy him a pocket-sized phone for the closest thing they could approximate to his birthday. He couldn’t decline, but no other phone took calls from any point in time and space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phone rang again, after months of silence. Sebastian froze in his airport lounge chair. This could only mean one thing. He smiled sheepishly and gestured toward Coach, then his phone. Coach nodded. Sebastian flipped his phone open and dashed into the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jess! Holy mother of McMillan, you’re alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian heard Jessica sigh over the phone. “Sebastian, I could say the same for you. It’s been so long. How are the Steaks?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re all right. I gotta tell the team that you’re back in action! They can’t not know this! Ooh, Sam and Mina have to know especially. All the OGs will be so happy to hear this!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...OGs?” Jessica asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What time period have you been dwelling in, the 970s?” Sebastian rolled his eyes, a stupid grin on his face. He knew she couldn’t scold him for it over the phone. “OG is for the original Steaks!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how the other Jessica did things, but I go through the ‘80s.” There was a chill in Jessica’s voice that wasn’t there before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian’s face fell. He had been away from the other world—his world—for too long. “Sorry, I… forgot. I’m not the right Sebastian. I’m not your Sebastian.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are still a Sebastian, the twin brother of some other me out in the aether, and by the gods, I will take care of you the same way I know she would have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. One of these days, I owe you one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure that other me owes my Sebastian too.” Jessica laughs a quiet, restrained laugh. After all those weeks in that shell, probably asleep and unaware, she still sounded terribly weary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian noticed Coach smoldering in the corner of his eye, holding Sebastian’s travel bag in one orange hand. The other Steaks were already lining up to board the plane. “Hey, my plane home is taking off soon. We’re going to play Seattle! Do you mind if I call you later?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica audibly bristled. “Seattle? Wait, you have to watch out for—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Coach narrowed his eyes, not that anyone could see his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, I have to go.” Sebastian snapped his phone shut and ran toward the gate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Season 7, Day 65</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian stepped up to the plate, gripping his bat firmly in both hands. A small portion of the George Foreman Stadium buzzed with excitement; the remainder was filled with Garages flans. What was left of Jaylen Hotdogfingers glowered with the force of the Void. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watch the ball,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sebastian thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not the pitcher. You</span>
  </em>
  <span> will </span>
  <em>
    <span>hit the ball.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited for the pitch. Jaylen threw it, faltering partway through. The ball curved in a way Sebastian had never seen before. Would it cross the plate or would he have to</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ow!” Sebastian yelped, as the ball hit him in the elbow. The umpires walked him. Sebastian’s arm twitched. He held it to his side. It continued until he returned to the dugout, then after the game, and all through the cookout following their victory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Conner, how’s the leg holding up?” Sebastian asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t cook any legs,” Conner said. The table shook; Sebastian noticed Conner was bouncing his knee off the underside. “Have you tried the ribs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ribs were, in fact, delicious, if not a little difficult to eat with one cooperative arm. Sebastian consulted Sky next. He got no answer, as Sky was already beak-deep into a slice of grilled watermelon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian left the cookout early. “I’m just tired,” he told Coach. This was only partially true. He wasn’t sure if anyone noticed his eyes darting around on their own, or how his arm seized up when he picked up his batting bag off the ground. With every step on the walk home, he felt himself lose control of another inch of his body, and by the time he collapsed on his hotel bed, he couldn’t stop shuddering.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hello?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Season 7, Day 67</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky was already darkening above the George Foreman Stadium. Sebastian flickered in apprehension. “Are you sure I couldn’t just sit this one out, Coach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coach dipped his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Day or night, rain or shine,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he seemed to say. Sebastian never quite figured out how to read this Coach correctly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We never grow sick, we never tire. Sorry, splort, but everyone plays by the same rules.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian would have argued that dark magic splorts injuries might count as an exception if Conner wasn’t tuning in to his pre-game HLORSE episode and Sky hadn’t already “misplaced” Kline’s batting gloves. Neither of them seemed particularly concerned, even after the splorts doctor’s reluctance to clear any of them. He sighed, took his place in the dugout, and headbanged to Dion Timmer until he was too dizzy to stand back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The game began before Sebastian could finish his playlist. He dragged himself to the plate for the first inning, and his bat clipped through his hand when he swung. Each inning blurred together in cycles of standing by second base and the faint taste of stadium dust from the bench. He cheered when his teammates rounded the bases and consoled them after ground outs over the endless buzz in his ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At some point in the cycle, Sam nudged Sebastian’s unstable arm. “Sky’s up to bat, and the umps are eyeing her down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, gods, Sky, don’t strike out,” Sebastian mumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An umpire’s head turned to the Steaks dugout. He spread his leathery wings and charged toward Sebastian, a gleam in his singular eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fͯ̋ͮ̒̅̃͡O̤̱̞ͣͤ̊̽ͭ̈͟R͌͒̂̏ͨ͏̳͕̭̥̫̪̳ ̫̪͉͕̈́̏̈́̍E͈̣̩͑͡V̳͔̪͊Ě̼̖͎ͬ̾̍R̗̯̰͙ͧ͐͆Yͦ͑̈̈̅̄̓ ̠ͤ͐̄͑ͥͭͨEͦ̅̓ͨͫͧ̄R̳̜͈̻̙̩̾͊̆ͅR̨̬͎̓ͪO̓͐̀ͥͨR̖̭͖̫̻͉̫ͭ̒ͣ͝,̬̘̲̙͚͍̂͊͜ ̛̟ͪ͑ͫ̊͒ͯA̧͇̠͆ ̄͟Pͯ͛ͭ̈ͯ̋ͧ͡R͖̫̣̜̪̰ͩͬ̂̀͗͗͆ͅI̿C̩̲̹͇̟̔̉̉͠ͅË̬͔̭́̓ͧ̄͟.̪̾ͪͫ̕”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian screamed into the umpire’s searing gaze as the fire engulfed him. He was probably dying, but he never felt more alive. Every nerve in his body tingled with the force of a timestream that wasn’t his own. Every emotion the chemicals in his brain could produce swamped his conscience. Every memory he saved, intentionally or otherwise, played simultaneously back to him, with minute details he didn’t know he retained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian and his Jessica stumbled from their phone booth for the first time. He couldn’t remember what they called each other then, only that she was there before he woke up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica punched a hairy creature from an ancient Earth between the eyes. It reeled backwards and growled at what was supposed to be easy prey. She took Sebastian’s arm, and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They smashed open a watermelon in the backyard of someone they never met, savoring each refreshing bite under the blistering Texas sun. A sweet imitation of the juice danced on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His first blaseball bat came from an Earthican market. “Splorts Authority,” he mouthed. “I wonder if they’re still around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sebastian flipped open his phone, closed it, flipped it open again, waiting for a call to adventure from halfway across the universe that never came. Jessica found her own fun among people that didn’t share her blood well before Sebastian so much as developed the nerve to try.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Steaks he loved in some alternate past recruited him from a batting cage at an unholy hour of the night. Explaining the circumstances of his birth, surprisingly, did not scare them away. “The real OGs,” he cried, before bursts of laughter from Grilldad jokes swept over him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Multicolored streamers shimmered under a light-covered truss. Sebastian cut non-geometric shapes among a legion of post-human ravers, pretending like the moves he practiced on Earth were just as easy with half of the gravity he was used to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A flash from his recent past stung him, presumably the shock that was the Sebastian of the other world. Although he reasoned long ago that he and Jessica were separate beings, Sebastian inevitably felt like she was a bigger part of him than he could bring himself to let go of. The sister of the flash, even if he wanted her to, could never replace his Jessica.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It still hurt him to watch the peanut in the sky trap her in that awful shell on national television. He failed to save her when she needed him to. Any Sebastian should have been able to, but he didn't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>?!?#-#!!?#</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The flames subsided. His mind and body slowed to their normal functioning. He opened his eyes, expecting the cold and barren void to yawn before him. He was almost disappointed to discover that his surroundings were familiar, in the way he knew the settings of his dreams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, don’t tell me the void sent me to the Splorts Authority.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a Splorts Authority anymore. The sign was flipped around in its plastic casing, only faintly legible from behind. A large steel door clamped shut, blocking out whatever was inside. Sebastian sat on the curb and opened his phone. He still remembered his Jessica’s number. Maybe she was still here, and he could say hello again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dialed and waited. Nothing. He dialed again, growing more and more desperate between each ring and each pause. The ringing stopped, and the slightest bit of static sounded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thankyouthankyouthankyou—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voice that spoke on the other end was not the voice of his sister, but of the prerecorded error message.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” It was the only other voice he would ever hear again in this empty hellscape, he realized. None of the cars in the parking lot had changed since his arrival, no opening of doors, no whiff of exhaust. The birdsong he had come to appreciate was replaced by… nothing. He was alone. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the void. Even if his Jessica wasn’t here, it didn’t stop him from saying goodbye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Season 7, Day 69</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica lay in bed, Dial Tone at her side. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One new message,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it informed her. She picked up and put the handset to her ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello? It’s me, Seb… the other Sebastian. If you can hear this, I’m gonna miss you. Thanks for everything you did for me. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do the same—” He choked. The static grew stronger. “I’m losing connection. I love you, Jess. Take care.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>End of final message.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- Yes, That Scene was heavily inspired by the Fairchart comic. https://twitter.com/fairchart/status/1306702955526193152<br/>[A CORRECTION FROM THE FUTURE: This comic was set at the end of Season 4, not in the wake of Sebastian's incineration. It's a bit late to fix it now, but I ran with my mistake in a later part.]<br/>- The one before it was inspired by "The Sky is Falling" from the Zero Hours podcast. That's probably a huge spoiler for the episode with context, but listen to it anyway. It's such a good podcast.<br/>- Sebastian listens to electronic now, I don't make the rules. Most of the chapter titles are indeed song lyrics, but not from songs I would expect the average Blaseballer to know.<br/>- I am also an identical twin. I do in fact know what I am talking about, because I poured myself into this Sebastian.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Million Leagues Above</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Season 7, Downtime</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica normally celebrated the games when the Steaks and the Pies were lucky enough to play against each other. When she played in Philadelphia, she made sure to send the Steaks home with more pies than they could eat. When she played in Dallas, she visited old favorite places with her old favorite teammates. She may have put on the Pies jersey after her morning shower, but part of her insisted she was forever a Steak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would they be able to forgive her for not being with them in Sebastian’s darkest hour?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Dial Tone sounded a jingling alarm. It was time to go. Jessica double-checked everything: her handbag, her duffle bag, her delivery order for eighteen custard pies and a fluffernutter sandwich. She turned off the lights in her apartment and shut the door behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> The trolleyblus pulled up to the station. When Jessica boarded, she took a handrail and stood by Ruslan Greatness, who sat near one of the back windows. “Telephone look sad,” he observed. “Is good? Not good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica stared at her shoes. “We’re playing the Steaks today. I don’t think I need to say more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruslan gave Jessica a single nod. “No fires today. Give game your all.” They rode out the rest of the gridded streets to The Oven in silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Oven was cold, with a backdrop of evening sky at two in the afternoon. Jessica jogged to the away dugout before the game started and stuck her head inside. “Hi,” she said to nobody in particular.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jessica,” most of the Steaks answered. Conner just hung his head. “We’re sorry. There was nothing we could do to help him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really.” Jessica shared Sebastian’s voicemail with the team. “I wanted you guys to hear this. He’s still out there somewhere, but I don’t think he’s ever coming back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears rolled into Conner’s beard. Jessica pretended not to notice, but changed her mind and reached in to give him a hug. The team gathered around them, one by one, and only let go when the announcer called for the ceremonial first pitch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re playing this for Sebastian, right?” Jessica asked the Steaks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For Sebastian!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica returned to the Pies dugout as the ceremonial pitcher walked to the mound. “Can—can we play this game for Sebastian? Just the one? Please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Pies nodded and murmured in assent. “For Sebastian.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Jessica said. “Let’s go.” She clapped twice and turned to the scoreboard as the compulsory rendition of “Let Me into the Blaseball” played.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Season 7, Day 73</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Pies took the field, waiting for the call. “Play ball!” Conner popped a ball off to Kennedy Cena, but Sam and Sebastian’s replacement scored in an incredible act of retaliation. Jessica could tell both teams were giving their all. She hustled between second and third, but the ball spent a lot of time in the outfield, and before long the Steaks had scored again. Finally, Hobbs pursued a hit before it touched the ground, taking them to the bottom of the inning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica watched Eduardo bat from the dugout railing. She felt the breeze on her face and a strange static brush up against her hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re going to be OK</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything’s going to be OK.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She stepped up to the plate under the shine of the stadium lights and the elation of the flans, where a spark of a forgotten song fired up in her mind. “This one’s for you, brother,” she said under her breath. “I didn’t spend all that time shelled up for nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I was gonna go easy on you and not to hurt your feelings, but I'm only going to get this one chance...” Jessica rapped. She swung the Dial Tone as hard as she could, and her one chance took both her and Beasley home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please hold for the interface-spoiled surprise epilogue.</p><p>More notes from the author:<br/>- I forgot to include this in the previous notes section, but please do give the Multitude podcasts a production. Their work is amazing and I'm so happy both TGB and Multitude are working together. (That's where "HLORSE" came from.)<br/>- The song I reference in the title and the final line is Eminem's "Rap God," inspired by someone posting about Jessica teaching herself "Rap God" while she waited in the shell. My interpretation of the shelling didn't leave a lot of room for Jessica to be fully awake, so I had to BS something last minute to get that joke in. ("She can do 'Rap God' now...")<br/>- Thanks for answering my baseball questions at 11:30 at night, Blaseballers. Also, instead of the national anthem(s), I made it so they all sang Josh Millard's "Let Me into the Blaseball." Blaseball is, after all, an international splort.<br/>- Since neither the Steaks nor the Pies are my team, I had to do quite a bit of research to put this fic together. I hope it shows.<br/>- This is the first time I cried at my own fanfic. I actually had to stop for a minute, take off my glasses, and attempt to put myself back together... over the group hug, of all things.<br/>- I HAD TO WRITE THIS. YOU WILL SUFFER THROUGH IT WITH ME. (Thank you for bearing with me.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Shiawase</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Born of eternal electricity, lost in a flash of fire. Rest in violence, Sebastian Telephone.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Season 7, Postgame </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The Steaks invited the Pies to the cookout after their last game. Grilldads of all ages, species, and genders prepared every grillable meat, fruit, and vegetable imaginable for scores of hungry mouths. With a spread like that, Jessica was embarrassed that she only got them eighteen pies this time.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re playing the Wild… the Mild Wings tomorrow,” Cory explained to Jessica. “We just came from Mexico City, and now the league is sending us back.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica poked a grilled mushroom with her fork. “What’s the point? It can’t be that hard for them to just schedule games so you’re not going back and forth every few days.”</p><p> </p><p>Cory buttered a cob of corn. “No matter what, we must remember that the Commissioner is doing a great job,” he said before taking a bite.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed he is,” Jessica agreed.</p><p> </p><p>Summers Pony nuzzled Jessica from behind. It was probably meant to be a nuzzle, anyway; their sheer, unbridled power made it feel more like being punched, but with a nose instead of a fist.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Summers,” Jessica said, in the manner one uses to talk to a friendly dog. Summers dipped their bristly head for Jessica to pat. She obliged. “It’s pretty great here, but I do miss seeing you all in Dallas sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>Summers pushed their head into Jessica’s hand. She had to push back hard to keep scratching their tiny ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you hungry, Summers?” Cory asked. “We can’t keep Jessica here all day, and you’re going to have to eat before we leave Philadelphia.” He led Summers to a trough full of alfalfa cubes, and Jessica used the opportunity to throw her paper plate away and talk to the Grilldads. She scanned the area to see which Grilldads still had their grills active, and settled by a woman tending to skewered bell peppers.</p><p> </p><p>The Grilldad squealed in excitement upon seeing Jessica. “Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to test some pie jokes,” she said. “How did the baker establish a successful pie shop? She really kneaded the dough!”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica’s eyelid twitched. She knew better than to insult a Grilldad, even at the worst joke.</p><p> </p><p>“That didn’t do it, huh?” the Grilldad asked. “Ooh, how about another one? Why does Philadelphia prefer big pies to small pies? The small pies aren’t filling enough!”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica groaned. “Come on, that was a bit of a stretch.”</p><p> </p><p>The Grilldad sighed. “Oh, well. Maybe you might appreciate these jokes when you’re older. Since you’re here now, what can I do for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you guys really grill <em> anything </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“You doubt the power of us Grilldads, honey.” The Grilldad removed the peppers from her grill and replaced them with more. “Show me what you want and I’ll see what I can do.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaxon Buckley had fulfilled Jessica’s order the night before. She thanked them, offered them a fifty (which they insisted was completely unnecessary, but she wouldn’t let them not take it), and returned to the Grilldad.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll grill all those pies if it takes me all night,” the Grilldad assured Jessica. “At the very least, I’ll do as many as I can before the Steaks pack up.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica shook her head and handed her a sandwich in a plastic bag, with a handwritten note taped to the front. “You’re going to have to take it out, because I don’t know what’ll happen if I touch it. But stick it in there, with the note on top, then close the lid and let it grill until there’s nothing left.”</p><p> </p><p>“You never question how grillable something is until they hand you five pounds of cotton candy. This should be baby stuff for any decent Grilldad.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica sat by the grill with the Grilldad, enjoying its warmth in the brisk evening. The flame crackled. Smoke poured from the grill’s vents. Betsy and Benitez pulled up chairs and chatted with Jessica and the Grilldad until there was nothing but a blackened residue left on the grates.</p><p> </p><p>The Steaks loaded their rented bus, and most of the Pies were gone. It was time for Jessica to go. “Thank you,” she said, still looking at the residue.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” said the Grilldad. “If you ever need anything grilled again, just let one of us know.”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica watched the last of the smoke dissipate into the night, slung her bag over her shoulder, and boarded the next trolleyblus from the station.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> !!?#-??#?#! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sebastian did not need to eat or drink to survive. Sleep was just a way for him to pass the time. If anything was going to kill him here, it was the loneliness. He wandered every street, restaurant, and community park in this Dallas, and not a soul came out to greet him. The cars did not start, and the lights in the houses did not turn on. The afternoon never clouded over or rained or turned to night. There was nothing here but a perfectly preserved page of an unwritten story.</p><p> </p><p>Then, after some indeterminate stretch of time, a sandwich fell in his lap.</p><p> </p><p>Sebastian picked it up and sniffed it. Skippy brand peanut butter and something else on squishy white bread. More peculiarly, it smelled slightly burnt. He took a bite, didn’t die, and took another. It was delicious, but probably just for lack of other food in this reality. A piece of paper fluttered onto the diamond. Sebastian chased it before it hit the ground, kicking up dust in his wake. The paper, unlike the sandwich, was crisp around the edges.</p><p> </p><p>“Dear Sebastian,” he read. He could feel the roughness in his neglected voice. “I don’t know where you are, but something tells me you’re still waiting there. The sandwich you already ate (you totally ate it) is called a fluffernutter sandwich, which has peanut butter and marshmallow creme inside. The Pies taught me how to make it. I wanted to share one with you in person, which clearly didn’t happen. Not that I can eat them anymore anyway after the ordeal with that big peanut.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know I’ll never replace your real sister. How could I even know what she was like? That didn’t stop you from trying to be there for me. I never forgot that you weren’t him, but when it came down to the end, I felt your loss just as hard as I felt my Sebastian’s. It hurt. It doesn’t matter how many girlfriends and wives I have if I can’t have a brother too. Don’t you EVER hang up on me, should I find a way to call you again. Love, Jess. Stay safe. We all miss you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Sebastian lay down on an impossibly weathered wooden bench and held the note to his electric hearts. He read it again and again until he tired out and fell asleep.</p><p> </p><p>When he woke up, he heard a smack, not unlike the first raindrop to fall before a storm. Another followed it. The air smelled slightly burnt. Sebastian opened his eyes and looked to the sky, determined to find the source of this change in the weather. It hit him—literally. A drop split open on his nose, and three roasted peanuts spilled to the dirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Something… new,” Sebastian whispered in awe. There were hundreds, no, thousands of them now, all falling around him like the sandwich, but blazing blue. “I think I get it now. Everything is peanuts.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had an ending planned for this story, but then the Hall of Flame happened and I had to change it to something more open. We have yet to observe the effects of the Hall of Flame.</p><p>Final notes from the author:<br/>- This is my first completed multi-part fanfiction, and I'm not sure if I want to do it again, at least not for the public eye. With this creative high came an unparalleled emotional instability, and I cried at a lot of fanart before writing this.<br/>- If you liked this story, please do not look me up anywhere else. Except maybe Spotify, because I like to think I have good taste. Otherwise, pretend this username doesn't exist on any platform, and pretend you never saw it here. I don't know what I did in high school, and I don't need reminders from curious strangers.<br/>- I guess if you REALLY want to find me, all I can say is that my name is Hokuto. Good luck.<br/>- Speaking of Spotify, I am now willing to share the playlist that got me through this. The Shiawase VIP mix in particular has been stuck in my head for half of the week. Have fun connecting the dots, because they are definitely there.<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3rMhJTiTHcmhtz0Tvht9V1?si=NmJhwIYCQj2XCMlw3RU1EA<br/>- If you see this, thank you for reading through this mess. TGIF.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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